


Cravings

by Phylwannabe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cravings, F/M, Married Life, Pregnancy, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phylwannabe/pseuds/Phylwannabe
Summary: Sansa is experiencing all of the normal issues with a first pregnancy. Jon is being patient but getting just a wee bit frustrated.  Sansa has absolutely no interest in dealing with Jon's issue until....she suddenly does!   Told from both Jon and Sansa perspectives.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 102





	Cravings

  
**Jon**

First it was lemon cakes. But not just _any_ lemon cakes. Only the ones made fresh daily at the mom ‘n pop shop, located at the exact opposite end of Wintertown from where they live, would do. 

It has become a habit by now. He gets off work and swings by the little bakery on Torrhen Square. He is now on a first name basis with Nan, the elderly lady who works the till. She smiles at him and reaches behind her for the white box already tied up with string, his name featured prominently in block lettering on top. “Goin’ through these kinda fast,” Nan teases and pokes him playfully in the stomach. _Yes, he is actually on a poke in the ribs basis with a senior citizen at this point!_ He grimaces but responds in kind as he pats his abs. “Still rock hard, Nan. You do realize these aren’t for me?” Nan shakes her head and shoos him out of the shop with a “Take care of that sweet girl, Jon Snow, and we’ll see you again in a day or two.” 

Lemon cakes were one thing. But her cravings have suddenly escalated from being rather sweet, no pun intended, to truly bizarre and more than a bit stomach turning. Sansa wakes him up at midnight to ask for beets, _pickled_ beets. He peered blearily at her gorgeous face, white, even teeth darting out to rake across her pink lower lip in a way that has always driven him crazy while she gives him a Sansa Snow patented “half hopeful, half embarrassed” look. Jon would do anything for her when she looks at him like that! 

Still more asleep than awake, Jon slides out of bed, stubbing his big toe as he moves to the dresser to retrieve his wallet and keys. He finds his wire rims, shoves them on his face, and pushes one hand through what he knows from experience is a frightful mess of tangled curls. He pulls on a pair of sweat pants over his boxers and dons a hoodie to cover his upper body. Jon glances at his image in the mirror and sighs. If the gods are good, he won’t get pulled over for any reason tonight because if he does, he’ll surely land in overnight lock-up on suspicion of driving while intoxicated. 

Jon makes it to the 24 hour WolfsMart without incident and he is heading down the main aisle toward the canned fruits and vegetables section when he hears a familiar voice - make that several familiar voices - yelling at him from the beverage section. He turns and winces. Theon, Grenn, and Pyp - all infamous partners in mayhem - are loading six pack after six pack of beer into a shopping cart. Jon gives them a half-hearted wave and tries to escape but Theon propels himself across the store using the cart as if it were an alcohol fueled skateboard while Grenn and Pyp jog behind. 

“Jon Snow!” Greyjoy crows, looking him up and down with barely concealed glee. “Son, you look rough,” he stage whispers in a voice that amplifies across the front of the store. Jon nods toward Grenn and Pyp while trying to move around the cart. “Just came out for somethin’   
Sansa is wantin. Wasn’t lookin’ to enter a fashion contest, Theon.” 

Theon claps his hand across Jon’s shoulder as if they are best friends when everyone present knows the best they ever managed growing up was a mostly civil intolerance of each other. “Ah, sweet Sansa! I imagine that she’s getting pretty far along now isn’t she?” Theon grins at his companions and arches an eyebrow at Jon. “No wonder you look so downtrodden. No good lovin’ goin’ on at home right now, huh?” 

Jon feels a headache starting between his tightly furrowed eyebrows. He needs to be civil because for some strange reason which entirely escapes him, Sansa has always been quite fond of Theon Greyjoy. He is pretty sure that Theon is more than a little bit jealous of the poor bastard from the wrong side of town who won the heart and hand of the Stark family jewel. Jon suspects that Theon is convinced Sans should have chosen him with all of his mostly honorific titles. When he keeps that in mind, Jon can understand, even sympathize a bit, with why Lord Greyjoy acts the way he does. He would be a jerk too if he had lost a girl like Sansa to another man. _Seven hells, he would be downright homicidal!_

Theon is right about one thing. Since just about week six, Sansa has shown about as much enthusiasm for sex as Jon has for this current conversation. That, in essence, means none. _Zilch. Zero. Nada_. But Jon doesn’t need to share that little factoid with Greyjoy and he can’t miss an opportunity to take the piss out of his frenemy. Jon leans toward Theon and shares in a voice just a bit too loud for true confidence: “You wouldn’t know this, Theon, being alone and single like you are, but pregnant women need a _lot_ of attention. I enjoy meeting Sansa’s every need. Back rubs, foot rubs, _all kinds of rubs_ , if you know what I mean.” Jon has never been able to wink properly, but he aims one of his patented “blinks that is not a wink” toward the three as he quickly side-steps a speechless Greyjoy and his companions. While he heads down what he hopes is the right aisle, he tosses a “But thanks for askin,” over his shoulder. 

Jon strides down the aisle, then slows as he passes by cans of green beans, peas, carrots, peas & carrots, tomatoes. Cabbage, corn, and limas. Just as he is about to give up, he spies the pickled beets. He heads to the self-checkout lane with a dozen jumbo sized cans. He isn’t about to let Sansa run out of any item she is craving and he damn for sure certain doesn’t want to have to make yet another midnight run for something so disgusting as beets. While Jon is scanning his purchases he thinks, _Thank the Seven I can check myself out. I am not in the mood to have yet another clerk look at me like they're wondering if I have some sort of strange vegetable fetish._

Of course Sansa is waiting, wide-awake, and pacing around the kitchen when he gets back home. While Jon re-sets the night time security code and refills Ghost’s water bowl, Sansa pulls each can from the bag as if it was a priceless treasure. “These look soooooh good, Jon. I can’t wait to try them.” Jon bites his lip and refrains from mentioning that he has never before seen Sansa so much as glance at a beet, much less wax rhapsodic about one. Jon comes up behind his wife and attempts to wrap his arms around her widening middle, but Sansa is a woman on a mission. She opens one can and then moves toward the domed cake platter sitting on the counter. Jon goes to the fridge for a drink of water. When he turns around, he nearly drops his glass. Sansa is sitting at the kitchen table, fork in hand, with a plate full of what looks suspiciously like lemon cakes with a pickled beet garnish. 

“Hon. What are you doing?”

Sansa closes her eyes in ecstasy and responds even as she wolfs down a bite. “ _Oooooh, Jon._ This is delicious! It really hits the spot.” Spearing another forkful, Sansa suddenly remembers her manners. “Would you like some, Honey?” She continues to shove food into her mouth as Jon, looking a bit green, mumbles “No Thanks. Excuse me, Baby. I think I need to, I just have to,...Oh, hells!” he blurts, as he suddenly dashes down the hallway in the direction of the bathroom.

Sansa shrugs, spears yet another bite of cake and beet combo, as she glances over at Ghost who is stretched out on the floor with his paws over his eyes. “Poor Jon. Must’ve been something he ate.”   
  
**Sansa**  
  
Morning sickness is a misnomer. Beginning around week six of her pregnancy, Sansa was blessed with the variety of nausea that could best be classified as “constant 24/7 sickness”. Then right around week fifteen, her stomach stopped feeling like it was full of carnival goldfish all jockeying for space, and suddenly, she was simply starving _all the time_! It seemed as if she ate every hour on the hour and all fifty nine minutes in between. There was absolutely no food group that didn’t appeal to her. One night shortly after her appetite had returned, Jon surprised his wife by making a reservation at her favorite restaurant. When Sansa had ordered three times more than she usually ate, Jon had teased Sansa that she reminded him of Julia Roberts in the _Pretty Woman_ restaurant scene. She knew Jon meant it as gentle kidding; after all _Pretty Woman_ was one of her favorites movies and she idolized Julia. Still Sansa couldn’t help it when unbidden tears filled her eyes. _Darn her pesky hormones!_ Jon had just sat there looking guilty and the next day he brought her a dozen chocolate covered strawberries as a peace offering. She had absently mumbled her thanks even as she scarfed them all down in one sitting. 

Sansa had always loved lemon cakes. Now she craved them, absolutely couldn’t keep her mind off their tart, tangy goodness. Jon was an absolute doll. He visited her favorite bakery almost daily, keeping her insatiable sweet tooth cravings satisfied. Week seventeen brought new cravings and even Sansa had to acknowledge they were a bit crazy. Again her lovely husband had been a real trooper. Jon had traveled to the grocery at all hours of the night to indulge her bizarre yearnings which seem to hit her with alphabetical precision....anchovies, artichokes, bagels (creme filled), and her latest obsession, beets --- of the pickled variety. 

Sansa loves her handsome husband. He is the best! She knows he misses cuddling with her, kissing her, and much, much more. She is touched that Jon still finds her desirable even as her illness had left her gaunt, stringy haired, and pale. But ever since her morning sickness began, Sansa simply cannot tolerate him touching her and she has rebuffed every tentative effort he makes to initiate intimacy. Sansa has started sleeping on her side, using a body pillow to cushion her growing belly. She has also discouraged Jon from assuming the big spoon position and he has taken the hint, keeping several feet between them as they sleep. Sansa feels terrible. Who knew that having a baby could change your life so much? 

  
**Week twenty.** Sansa has just come from her monthly appointment with Dr. Tarth with a good report. Baby is doing well and she can’t wait to share the new ultrasound pictures with Jon. Sansa has been feeling more energetic in the last week so she has elected to walk to and from her appointment. It is a pleasant late autumn day and she feels the need to stretch her legs and get some fresh air before the inevitable winter cold arrives to stay. 

When she passes the corner grocery, Sansa hesitates, then pushes the door open, and enters. She actually feels well enough today that she thinks she can prepare dinner this evening rather than expecting Jon to throw something together when he gets home. Jon loves Italian so Sansa picks up spaghetti, sauce fixings, salad, and bread. When she reaches her front gate, arms straining from the weight of the bags she is carrying, Sansa notices Jon’s car is already in the drive. She looks at her phone and realizes that her stop at the grocery took longer than she thought. 

She enters the kitchen and greets Ghost who rushes to meet her. Sansa sets her purchases on the kitchen island and moves through the house. “Jon, I’m home! Just got back from the doctor!”

Receiving no answer, Sansa moves down the hallway toward their bedroom. The shower in the ensuite is running. Sansa opens the door to the bath and peers inside. 

Jon is an architect. When they planned to build a home on land gifted from Sansa’s parents, Jon designed the house. The master bath is Jon’s most spectacular gift to his wife’s love for luxury. A large sunken tub sits at the end of the room with a skylight overhead. Prior to her pregnancy, Jon and Sansa routinely bathed together under the moonlight and - if Sansa is honest - often in broad daylight as well. There is a private space for the toilet in the corner and a long mirrored vanity takes up the rest of one side of the room. The tiled shower is open, designed so that no doors or curtains are needed to keep the water from flooding onto the floor.

“Jon?” Standing in the doorway, Sansa glances at the vanity mirror and her breath stutters. Jon is in the shower, his back to her, and the reflected view is glorious. 

Her husband has always been easy on the eyes, but today Sansa feels that old phrase is totally inadequate to describe her mate. The running water makes Jon oblivious to the fact that he now has company, giving Sansa the time to fully appreciate the scene before her. She turns from the mirror to gaze at him directly. _Seven hells, he is so gorgeous!_ Sansa takes in his wet hair, hanging in dark, loose curls that barely touch his broad shoulders. His back muscles move in a scintillating rhythm as he soaps up his front. Sansa’s perusal of her husband skips her favorite part of his anatomy and moves on to Jon’s strong thighs and lean legs. She then returns to his ass. Jon’s backside is so spectacular that Sansa has always thought it should be designated as a national monument. She gasps as he suddenly reaches behind him and runs the bar of soap down both pink orbs.

Sansa is suddenly very hot and more than a little bothered. It has been quite a while but not so long that she fails to recognize what is happening. After nearly three months of _mehhh_ , Sansa’s sexual mojo has returned with a bang. She is excited, she wants her man, and she wants him _right now_!

Sansa pulls her loose blouse off in one smooth motion. Trousers follow right after she kicks off her shoes. She has reached behind her to unclasp her bra, just one frilly panty away from joining her hot husband in the shower, when Jon suddenly does something that stops her hand in mid-air. 

  
Jon makes a noise, one that is quite familiar to his wife. Sansa feels that sound ripple through her own body. It is best described as a cross between a moan and a pleasured hum. She narrows her view and realizes that while Jon’s left arm is now propped well above his head, biceps rippling, and his large hand splayed against the shower wall, his right hand is somewhere much, much, lower....

By this time Sansa is so turned on she can actually feel the throbbing between her legs. She knows if she touched herself there her hand would come away glistening with moisture that is even now starting to trickle down between her legs. She watches as Jon’s arm moves up, then down, then in a slow round arc that causes him to groan with deep satisfaction. Sansa still wants to join him in the shower but she suddenly also wants to pleasure herself while watching her husband climax. She leans against the vanity and runs one hand down her rounded belly until it disappears inside the lace that lays across her hips. The other hand pushes her bra down, freeing her breasts which are, if she does say so herself, becoming quite impressive size-wise. 

She begins to imitate Jon’s movements, using her hands to urgently chase her pleasure. As Jon increases the speed of his strokes and his grunts become more and more desperate, Sansa finds that she is already oh, so close. She dips first one, then two fingers inside herself, moving the digits in and out, even as she brings her other hand down to circle the sensitive nub at the top of her mound. Sansa closes her eyes, concentrating on the delicious feelings coursing through her until her focus narrows down to two things: Jon’s hoarse cries and her own desires. When Jon finally cries out her name - _Sansa!_ \- just once, the realization that her lover still desires her - weird yearnings, sick stomach, stringy hair, body pillow, and all - sends Sansa spiraling over the edge and she grips the vanity as she rides the crest of her orgasm until she is panting, gasping, her vision turning black even as the white noise thrumming in her eardrums blocks out her husband’s own cries of release. 

Sansa slowly comes back, the black spots before her eyes slowly receding as she holds on to the counter to brace her body from falling to the bathroom floor. As her vision returns, the first thing her eyes focus on is the shower. Jon is still standing inside the tiled enclosure but he is facing her now, clear embarrassment flushing across his beautiful face. Sansa blushes too, but then squares her shoulders and draws on some inner fortitude that only pregnant women are afforded in moments of intimacy. She reaches behind her and unclasps the final hook that is keeping her bra still attached to her body. Jon watches eagerly and when he openly ogles her chest, she gains much needed confidence. Sansa slides her soaked panties down her long legs and kicks them in the general direction of her dumbfounded husband. She lowers her eyes and then looks up under her lashes at Jon while she runs one elegant hand down her belly. Just before that hand reaches ground zero, she reaches out to tug him from the shower. 

**Together**

Jon wraps his arms around her body and Sansa rejoices that his touch is now not only welcome, but wanted. Jon nuzzles into his wife's silky hair. _Gods be good, she still wants me!_ Sansa tugs on Jon’s neck until he brings his mouth down to meet her own and they spend uncounted moments in a longing kiss which is deep and loving. Jon separates himself just enough to bring a hand around to cup first one heavy breast and then to slide down to where their child rests between them. “Sansa?” he asks with hoarse hope. Sansa can do nothing more than nod, then gives out a delighted shriek as he lifts her in his arms and carries her to the bedroom.... 

Hours later, the moon has risen. Silvered beams enter the dark room and cast ribbons of light across the two figures lying entwined in the big bed. A whine and scratch at the door goes unanswered for a bit, but then the persistent pawing causes the larger figure to groan. 

Jon is sore in places he never knew could feel sore. He is also delightfully, bonelessly spent and he owes it all to his pregnant, but very sexy and totally insatiable wife. As he moves to extricate himself from her arms and legs which are wrapped around his middle, she murmurs in protest and then smiles as he replaces his torso with her pregnancy body pillow. He _really_ needs to go let Ghost out to relieve himself before the big dog humiliates himself in the hallway. Still he can’t help but take the time to lean over and plant a kiss on his wife’s forehead. She opens her eyes and smiles in that breath taking way that has always blown him away from the first time he saw her. Jon cups her face and kisses her softly. 

Another whine from the hallway and Sansa pushes him gently, regretfully, away. “Go see to Ghost, then come back quickly.” She stretches like a well-fed cat and purrs, “I will miss you.”

Jon chuckles and then, because he has always lacked any restraint when it comes to his wife, gives her a quick kiss on the neck. “Can I bring you anything,” _another peck_ “when I come back?”

She groans and grabs his curls, dragging his head down to where her neck meets her shoulder. He continues his attentions, adding a bit of bite to his kiss. “Glass of water, _peck_ , anchovies?” He mock shudders, “beets?” and then grins into the warm space created by her collarbone. 

She pulls him away and puts both hands on either side of his head forcing him to look directly into her eyes as she sweetly responds. “Glass of water and one lemon cake, if you please.”

“No other cravings tonight?” 

Her eyes glint as she rakes a hot gaze down his naked body. “Oh, I wouldn’t say _that_ , husband.” 

As Jon rushes Ghost out the back door, grabs a glass of water, and snatches the dome off the cake platter to scoop up the last lemon cake, he thanks each and every god, known and unknown, that his pregnant wife _finally_ has a brand new craving. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> So I think beets and cake is a pretty gross combo but my mother craved this when she was pregnant with me and loved it every after!


End file.
